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The LoCA Life & Times

In Lodi, wine comes first. And we wouldn’t have it any other way. Meet the passionate people behind our handcrafted wines and gnarly old vines.

Randy Caparoso
 
November 26, 2010 | Randy Caparoso

In Lodi autumn is poetry

Mornings are dipping into nose nipping sub-30 degree temps.  Leaves are doing their yearly dance of death, and grape vines are preparing their wintry beds on frost gilded coverlets of greens skirted with crinkley leaves hued in fiery reds, oranges and yellows.

It’s autumn in Lodi.  Or as Robert Frost put it, Nature’s first green is gold… her hardest hue to hold… A pictorial accounting of that poetic transition in 2010:

A lonely barn in dawn's early light...

The autumnal morning sun rears its unbearable light...

That mournful oak, so familiar to travelers along the Lodi Wine Trail...

"Nothing gold can stay," wrote Robert Frost...

Is there nothing more autumnal than a rising Lodi style pie?

... and squash and barrels in geometric consignments?

... and warming, happy familial scenes.

... as in forests of old man Zinfandel vines.

... while these centurian Cinsaults play the sultry blondes

Some vines, like this grizzled misbegotten Tokay, have long gone bald...

Ripken's oversized toolshed along Hwy. 12 says it all...

A house hiding dusk's purple spangled purposes...

... and so we say goodnight, with dried leaves muttering imprecations.

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